Dear Future Traffic Fatality,

I don't know you. I know that you ride a bike, which is good for the environment, so kudos. I know that you have a daughter who goes to the elementary school around the corner from my house, because I see her in the bike seat behind you. I know that you take her to school every morning. Kudos again. Parental involvent is a great thing.

Because you won't be around to hear it, let me just say now that I'm probably going to be quite distraught on the morning that I kill both of you. This morning marked the second time in less than a week that you have blown off the stop sign next to my driveway and zipped behind me as I'm pulling out into traffic. You are not alone in blowing off that stop sign. Once or twice a month, as I prepare to travel to work, I am nearly hit by a driver who has decided to cut me off and speed through the intersection, ignoring the stop sign, the white stop line, and the crosswalk that all tell them to stop before proceeding past my driveway. Here's the big difference. If they hit me, they will be forced to listen as I tediously explain the rules of the road, where one is obligated to stop at a stop sign, and who has the right of way when a driveway opens into an intersection with a three-way stop (hint: It's me!). You on the other hand, will be spared this chat, because you and your child will be rather busy being crushed under my automobile.

Now, I fully respect your right to die because of your own stupidity. Like the bicyclists who regulary speed past my blinking right turn signal to pass me on the right as I wait to turn, the other bicyclists who travel on streets that are too fast, too busy, and too narrow for them to be considered traffic instead of traffic hazards, and the other bicyclists who feel that they do not, in fact, need to wait their turn at busy intersections, you can rest assured that eventually, if you continue to play tag with cars, you will probably die. However, I object to the way you have involved your child in this scenario.

Dickhead.

Sincerely,
Deadspot